


Polos and Jeans

by Midge03



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Chan Dad, Chan top, Fingering, Gay, Homophobia, I’m not too sure, M/M, Minho and his cat are bffs, Minho watches Chan, Neighbours, Pining, Smut, aged up Chan, minchan rise, minho bottom, slight degradation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midge03/pseuds/Midge03
Summary: He’s cute, in the flustered cool dad kind of way, and Minho would really like to seduce him, have sex with him and maybe wake up and make scrambled eggs together.OR: Minho thinks his middle aged dad of a neighbour is hot.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 12
Kudos: 329





	Polos and Jeans

If polo shirts and baggy jeans were a thing then they were Minho’s thing. Or more specifically Minho’s thing when on Chan, his forty year old neighbour right across the road who spent his Sunday mornings tinkering with his car and making sure his hosepipe hadn’t rusted overnight.

If Minho had more decency, he’d be embarrassed at himself for spending his free time watching Chan, but he really hadn’t. There was something so riling about lying on the sofa with his feet up on the armrest and a Brontë book in his hands to ignore as he watched Chan through the window doing his outdoor rituals like he was in charge of Halfords. Minho’s favourite time to watch Chan was when he was having a go at the engine of his age old Nissan, arms straining against his polo and the white skin of his lower back visible when he bent over to pick up a tool. He was always messing about outside with some sort of anti domestic job like keeping check of the rain pipes or upgrading the door bell; useless little things that a lonely man with a very impersonal job and too much time on his hands would do.

Because Chan was a lonely man. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t spend his afternoons shuffling around in rubber shoes and scratching at the moss building up on the cement between the bricks of his walls or talking to Mr Rucastle, the man from down the street who put on his matching silk pyjamas at four pm to water his Ghost Lady ferns and to complain to Chan about the youth. Chan didn’t seem to have a family even though he looked like the kind of guy who would love to be a father and tell his son exactly which spanner was best for whatever useless upkeep he was doing next. Instead, he would always just come back from work in his formal suit jacket and then exit the house a couple of hours later in a polo shirt and jeans, and poke around the gutters.

And Chan had a lot of polo shirts and jeans. The jeans were baggy, always, and sat too far low on his hips and bunched up around his ankles. His shirts on the other hand were always a size too small and the sleeves would sit uncomfortably on his biceps. The shirts themselves came in the range of grey, black and grey, and always had the ugly little red polo player sitting on his nipple. Watching Chan’s muscles and ass as they respectively strained against the sleeves and sat unflattered under a thick layer of denim was definitely Minho’s peak hornbag interest. He seriously wanted to give that ass a squeeze, preferably when the man was mowing his lawn and not at all expecting it. Minho was sure it was round and tight under all that fabric, and the image of Chan’s strong arms holding Minho’s hair as the younger boy sucked him off on a sofa in the blur of a lounge he’d invented for his Chan fancies was, at this point, the only thing that got him off. Sometimes he wished he could go back to the gay hentai he’d destroyed his laptop with in high school to make things easier, but he knew how anticlimactic that was.

So that was why he needed a way to get something going with Chan. They themselves hadn’t talked much, their interactions from outside Minho’s mind consisting of Chan giving him a large wave through the window occasionally, which would slap back down onto his jeans in a flash of awkward, or Minho making a point of being shirtless and looking extra sultry as he drew the curtains or opened the windows with an innocent smile. 

There were also occasions where Minho went over with some made up illness of electrical sockets to get Chan over, only to have him say with flushed cheeks that nothing was wrong, and Minho to laugh innocently and say he must have been mistaken but he was still so grateful that Chan came and would he mind so much as to maybe join Minho for dinner? Chan always said no though, with a flustered, dimpled smile and a small nod goodbye, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes disappearing as fast as they appeared.

But one morning Mr Rucastle came pounding on Minho’s door, this time in a bright red number, and started yelling at him for stealing his wife’s dinner plates and for being so rude that even though his neighbour had had a major work promotion, all he could do with his twenty two year old ass was drink vodka and take hour long showers. Minho had felt rather offended at the statement, seeing that his last week of nights had passed with him taking ten minute long showers and drinking tea with his cat. However, when he made to close the door, a “Congratulations Mr Silk Pyjamas for your measly promotion” on the tip of his tongue, Mr Ruscastle stuck his Christmas slipper clad foot in the doorway and said no it wasn’t his promotion, it was Chan’s, and if Minho had any decency to thank the man for all the house errands he’d done for him, he’d go over with a small gift and a congratulations. 

Of course, Minho wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass by, so he hastily acknowledged Mr Rucastle’s good news and not even hours later, still clad still in his T-shirt and shorts because they were the cleanest thing he could find, he rang the bell to Chan’s house. He was armed with a bottle of maybe-opened-a-couple-of-weeks-ago-but-hadn’t-drank-much-of-it-wine too; the most decent gift he could come up with for a forty year old hottie. 

It was Saturday so Chan should be free and, according to his usual schedule, on his way to making a peanut butter sandwich to entertain him on his morning in the deckchair outside. Occasionally he came out in his night clothes: a T-shirt, flannel bottoms which outlined knees Minho really wanted to hump, and a dressing gown, but Minho not so secretly hoped he was in his polo and jeans. He’d love to just feel those arms up, maybe with a few teasing touches before Chan gave in, or a finger up the tight cuff to pinch at the soft skin of his armpit as he pretended to ignore Chan getting all hot and bothered.

Fuck, just imagining Chan like that, his slight wrinkles deepening as he tried to keep his moans to himself, had Minho riled up. But the latter willed the image away, not wanting to weird Chan out with a pre prepared boner on his doorstep, and waited for the door to be answered.

It took just a minute for Minho to hear heavy footsteps creaking down the stairs, the tinkle of the lock opening, and then an open door revealing Chan with a mug in his hand and a Top Gear magazine tucked into the crook of his elbow. He looked surprised at seeing Minho, and even more surprised when Minho lifted the bottle, holding it out to Chan and smiling as prettily as he could.

“Hey Chan, I just wanted to say congratulations on your promotion at work,” he said, words coming out just as he’d practiced them- with a lilting fondness but a margin for interpretation.

Chan’s eyebrows went up at this, but he still turned around, setting down his mug on a small table and reaching out to take the bottle. He looked at the label, speaking as he examined, seeming almost too focused. “Rucastle been parading around has he?” he asked, eyes flickering up. 

“Yeah actually,” replied Minho. “He’s awfully keen on preaching good manners to everyone.” Chan’s eyes crinkled at this, and he looked up to face Minho properly.

“It’s more to parade his own than anything else,” he said.

“I heard his wife is worse though,” said Minho.

“Yeah she- uh, don’t tell her I said this- she really is,” said Chan. “She hates teenagers, especially those who live alone.”

“I was accused of stealing dinner plates.”

“Well that should be her fix for the week.” Minho laughed.

“Better be.”

“But thank you Minho, I really appreciate it,” said Chan, holding up the bottle.

“Oh that’s not a problem. I mean I don’t actually even know what promotion I’m congratulating you for,” said Minho. Chan laughed.

“I doubt even old Rucastle knows, but don’t worry about that,” he said. “He’s just.. yeah.” 

Minho’s statement had been open ended, mostly so that they could break into conversation, but Chan didn’t seem to want to talk further. There was a moments silence and if Minho were to say, he thought Chan looked a little uncomfortable. His eyes were shifting, landing on anything but Minho, and the tips of his ears were turning red at the younger boys attention. Minho wanted to coo at that, but he stood his ground, waiting expectantly. Chan probably wasn’t planning on inviting Minho in, but the younger boy had made it so far that he would stand here however many awkward long minutes it would take for Chan’s hospitality to come along and invite him in.

And when it did, Minho simply smiled gratefully and passed over into the threshold. Chan apologised to him about the mess as per social construct, and Minho replied with a polite reassurance. Despite that, to Minho’s eyes everything was spick and span. If the peanut butter jar with a knife sticking out of it on the kitchen counter weren’t there, it’d have looked uncannily tidy. 

Chan’s house itself was similar to Minho’s by floor wall and doors, but the furnishing was decidedly different. While Minho preferred to stuff his space with any odd trinket he likened to, Chan’s house was neat, orderly and heavily taken from Ikea. Minho himself had a construct-it-on-your-bloody-own bookshelf but his preferred shopping centre was charity fairs and antique shops, and making cupboards just didn’t sit well with him. They sat well with Chan for sure though.

“I like the furniture,” smiled Minho as he and Chan took a seat on something probably named SKÖRBIG. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the much too big TV and the weights tucked into a corner and the bookshelves laden with magazines and old classics. Chan laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and speaking. 

“Well I’m not awfully bothered about interiors, I just wanted something decent for my son if he visits. Don’t want him having to live in box with a single sofa and white walls do I?” Minho’s eyes went wide at these words.

“You have a son?” he asked, worry filling him slightly. His level 100 sneak up on Chan’s dick plan foiled because the guy is probably taken? Not on Minho’s selfish agenda for the day, that’s for sure.

“Ah yeah.. I do, he’s pretty young though.” Chan didn’t seem keen on speaking further, but a polite, curious neighbour question from Minho couldn’t be rejected.

“You got a wife?” Delicate yes, but Minho needed to know before he did anything. Or not. He’d make Chan do terrible things if he had to. 

“I- no actually, just a son. We were gonna get married but she found out- uh... yeah.” Chan stopped speaking at this, his ears flaring up and an awkward expression settling on his face. 

“Found out what?” eked Minho.

“Noth- nothing,” stammered Chan, looking away as his cheeks darkened. Shit- Minho knew, oh Minho fucking knew, but he was still going to get it out of Chan.

“But she found out something?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and shuffling closer to Chan. Chan refused to face the younger man, turning his head further. Minho reached out a hand, putting it on Chan’s knee in a way which could have been taken as comforting but did nothing of the sort. Chan shuddered, and he tried to move away further but Minho started rubbing his thumb in circles on the rough denim above his kneecap before trailing up his thigh. “What did she find out Chan?”

“She- she found out that I... Fuck Minho, I can’t.”

“But you can,” lulled Minho, moving his finger up to play with Chan’s arm. They were as solid as they looked, and when Minho pushed a finger under the sleeve and pulled at Chan’s armpit hair, the elder shuddered. 

“She found out I liked men.” Minho grinned.

“She did didn’t she?” he said not trying to hide the victory in his tone. “You wanted to get married so you could raise the child as friends but she didn’t want that, and so now you live like this. Alone and with a job you hate.” Minho had heard the rumours but he’d never realised it was Chan. Chan’s head dropped at this and he let out a small sad “Yes.” 

“Why don’t you look at me Channie hm?” asked Minho, stroking Chan’s upper rib. Chan just shook his head, leaving his eyes looking downwards. Minho moved his hand away, gripping Chan’s jaw and stroking his lower lip. “Hm? Maybe that’s why you spend all your day outside. Hoping and praying that someone, anyone, will give you a little attention. Right?” Chan didn’t respond, letting out a gasp as Minho moved his other hand to run over Chan’s crotch. He was hard. Fucking perfect, this man was a delight. 

“Or maybe you wanted just someone specific’s attention?” Chan’s eyes filled with shame at this, and Minho grinned. “Did you think you were that smooth Chan? That you’d get away unnoticed.” Minho pressed into Chan’s crotch harder and the man jolted slightly, finally speaking. 

“Stop- stop Minho. We shouldn’t do this.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to invite me in right? You don’t want to admit that you like a younger guy. It disturbs you, but you want it so.damn.bad.” With each of these words, Minho squeezed Chan’s dick through his jeans, the crooked zip doing exactly as Minho had dreamed and digging in. Chan whimpered, eyes glimmering, but Minho pulled his head up so that it was facing him. He noticed a small cut on Chan’s cheekbone, a fresh shaving accident, and the younger pressed his salty fingers into it, making the older man wince. Minho just pressed in harder.

“Say it.” Chan shook his head. “Fucking say it,” growled Minho, letting go of Chan’s jaw and gripping his hair. He pulled his head back so that he could see Chan’s nervous eyes flitting around, looking anywhere but Minho. The younger boy actually found it adorable, the way Chan wanted him so much but just wouldn’t admit it, and he couldn’t wait to feel the embarrassment drip from Chan when he got the words out of the man. “No? Well then.” 

With that, Minho removed all his hands from Chan, and made to rise. He saw Chan’s eyes widen in panic at the motion, and he grabbed Minho’s wrist hastily.

“Shit- no. Don’t go. I mean. No. I want... fuck.” Chan paused, swallowing nervously. Minho stopped moving, looking down at Chan victoriously as he tried to form the words. “I want you Minho,” he said finally, letting go of the younger’s wrist and burying his face in his hands. Minho smiled, sultry as he removed Chan’s face and nudged his head up with a finger, sitting down on Chan’s lap. 

“You’re a horrible person for thinking about a young man like that Chan. You know that right?” said Minho, slipping his hands under Chan’s shirt and pressing into his hip. Chan wasn’t, Minho was legal and he knew that, but the way Chan was reacting to this, and the way his eyes had become glossy with shame and lust stopped Minho from thinking about taking this in any other direction. Chan was cute in the flustered cool dad kind of way, and he was a good man.

Good for Minho. 

“Oh my- fuck,” cried Chan as Minho shuffled his hips forward slightly, grinding his hard on against Chan’s. Minho dug his fingers in harder, hissing at the feeling of his shorts rubbing on him painfully. 

“Do you want to fuck me Chan?” he asked. Chan groaned, his head falling back onto the sofa at the words. 

“I shouldn’t.”

“I want you to.” Chan just groaned again. Minho grabbed his hands, moving them to rest on the round of his ass. He dropped his own hands, leaving Chan to tentatively take some action.

He didn’t though, so Minho moved his hips on Chan’s dick again, and Chan squeezed Minho’s ass at the feeling, taking in a breath. Minho let out a moan at the sensation. 

Moving his hands away from Chan, Minho stood up. He pushed the coffee table back with his legs and then turned to face the sofa, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it right off. He then pushed his shorts down, a warm feeling bubbling up in him as he felt Chan’s gaze sweep him, the kind that would have been uneasiness five years ago but wasn’t anymore. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so he was completely naked for Chan to see, and he loved every bit of the feeling. He knew he was gorgeous (home work out sessions with his cat having paid off) and he couldn’t wait to have Chan’s hands all over him. 

And this time they were. 

As soon as Minho reseated himself, busying his own hands with undoing Chan’s belt, he felt Chan’s rough fingers on his hips, sliding up and down his abdomen and resting on the swell of his backside. Minho wanted those fingers down his throat some time in the next ten minutes, that was for sure. 

Once Minho was done with the belt and had slid it out of its loops, he started on Chan’s zipper and buttons. He wasn’t planning on getting Chan out of his jeans, the rough fabric feeling too good under his thighs, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting to Chan’s dick.

And when he did, he almost did a double take. Chan was fucking big. Like bigger than the biggest dildo Minho owned (though the collection was not vast and his preferred object was a can of air freshener) and Minho felt his mind go hazy with the thought of how good it would feel. 

“Got lube Chan?” he asked, stroking Chan’s dick without taking his eyes off.

“Yeah,” said Chan, his voice breathy. “In the drawer behind you.” Minho swivelled around, opening the drawer in the table and taking the small bottle out. Why Chan had lube in this room, he wasn’t going to question right now, but the thought of Chan all alone, lying on this sofa playing with himself as he stared into Minho’s lounge did make its way into the younger man’s mind. 

But he put that aside, opening the bottle as soon as he was positioned again and removing Chan’s hands from where they rested. He poured the lube onto Chan’s crooked fingers and the latter rubbed the liquid between them for a moment and then moved his own legs apart, spreading Minho’s ass as he did. After that he guided one finger to Minho’s crack, trailing it down until it found the puckered hole.

When Chan pushed one finger in, it didn’t feel like much. One finger usually never did, those porn girls moaned too much, but then Chan put in another and started moving. Minho hissed at the stretch, gripping the man’s shirt. The fact that it was Chan was turning him on more than the actual fingers, but it was rough as it stroked his walls, wiggling around and trying to get Minho comfortable with the sensation. Chan himself had on an expression of concentration, teeth biting down on a lip as he began to scissor. 

“Fuck Chan,” moaned Minho as Chan began to pump, the motion rocking Minho and making his dick slap against both their stomachs, leaving spatters of precum on Chan’s black polo. Chan put another finger in, pushing in deeper and deeper until one of them brushed against Minho’s prostate Minho moaned, his body tensing and then relaxing as Chan pressed into the spot more.

Not even a moment later though, Chan removed his hand, gripping Minho’s thighs and lifting him slightly. Minho’s eyes widened.

“What?” said Chan, his earlier embarrassment making way for a moment of something else. With Minho’s lust taking up more of his mind, he gave up the controlling act slightly too, simply biting his lip. “Don’t think it’ll fit?”

“Shut up, I can take anything.”

“How does my hosepipe sound?”

“Some sort of fucked up utility kink of yours Chan?” said Minho, sniggering. Chan rolled his eyes. Without saying anything, he lifted Minho up and sank him right down on his dick.

“Holy shit- give a guy a warning,” said Minho, taking in deep breaths. It was only Chan’s tip inside him but the stretch was enough and he needed a moment to process the way Chan had so easily picked and was holding him up. 

“You said you could take anything,” said Chan, giving a lame wink. Minho groaned. 

“Hosepipe is sounding good right about now.”

“You want hosepipe?” said Chan, eyebrows raising. Minho knew what he was thinking so before he could do anything, he sank all the way down on Chan’s dick. “Shit Minho,” gasped Chan, steeling himself. Minho just whimpered, the sudden fullness coming like a wave. 

“Why the fuck are you so big Chan?” he breathed.

“Viagra?” suggested Chan from amongst heavy breaths. Minho sniggered. 

“Just fuck me.”

“On it.” With that, Chan held Minho up and started pounding into him and Minho would have complained that his insides were being scrambled if that wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted. Chan’s breath was hot on his shoulders and Minho could smell the peanut butter as he nudged up the younger’s jaw, pressing slobbery kisses as he went. 

It didn’t take long for Chan to hit Minho’s prostate, and it had him tingling all the way to his toes. Chan rammed in at pace harsher than his surface personality, and it got Minho thinking how experienced Chan was, probably from multiple one night stands during and after his relationship. He could be so much fun. 

“Minho, I’m gonna cum soon,” said Chan suddenly, his voice raw and his eyes trained on Minho’s dick as the latter touched it intermittently.

“Me too,” he stuttered, starting to jerk himself off with more fervour. “Just cum.”

“Where?”

“Inside.” Chan groaned, throwing his head back and moving Minho up and down a couple more times before releasing, his hot seed filling Minho to the brim and almost bringing him to his own orgasm. He reached out for Chan’s free hand, putting two fingers in his mouth and sucking. That brought him over the edge and he came, spilling onto Chan’s shirt and biting into the fingers to suppress a scream. Once he’d pumped all his juices out and Chan had stopped moving, the two men just flopped, Chan pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sofa as fell Minho on Chan and Chan on the cushions.

They took a breather, spending a couple of wordless minutes pressed together in that awkward after sex glow which Minho broke by leaning up and pressing a kiss onto Chan’s soft lips.

“I kind of like you Chan,” he confessed. Chan laughed.

“Oh I know, forty years in this world had taught me enough about reading people.” Minho pouted. 

“So you always knew I wanted to jump you.”

“Yes, and you knew I knew. But I didn’t want to do anything... just in case I was wrong. And even without that, I didn’t want to be a standard pedophile.”

“Why was it so hard to admit though.”

“...I’ve never really told anyone before. My ex reacted badly and just thinking about it made me... nervous.”

“You’re so cute Chan,” smiled Minho, pressing another kiss to his lips. 

“You too Minho.”

**Author's Note:**

> They cooked lunch together afterwards and Minho got to smack Chan’s ass while he was mowing the lawn so happy days.
> 
> Twitter: [BinnieBixch](https://mobile.twitter.com/BinnieBixch)  
> CuriousCat: [BinnieBixch](https://curiouscat.me/BinnieBixch)


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